


Luck of an Italian

by sarken



Category: Third Watch
Genre: Bad Days, F/M, Juvenilia, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-11
Updated: 2003-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith has a very bad Saint Patrick's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of an Italian

**Author's Note:**

> My response to the Kiss Me...Challenge. I issued it, so I figured I had to make sure there was at least one response!

Faith rummaged through the kitchen, trying to find something that could possibly pass for lunch. She had been planning on going grocery shopping that morning, but then Charlie hadn't felt well and stayed home from school, so Faith decided to stay home until she had to go to work. This resulted in a nonexistent food supply and an annoyed, hungry woman who had to leave for work in ten minutes.

When she found the tin foil-covered remains of pizza in the fridge, she thought she struck pay dirt, but when she uncovered it, she realized to eat it would be to willingly make herself ill. It was an interesting shade of green -- God only knew when they had last ordered pizza -- and she was fairly certain the pizza wasn't trying to get into the St. Patrick's Day spirit. After tossing it into the garbage, she decided a look through the cabinets would be less hazardous. An empty Ritz box soon joined the pizza, as did a box of Blueberry Morning that had gone stale about three years earlier. Next to that box's space, in all its red glory, sat a brand new box of Lucky Charms.

I never thought the day would come that I'd be happy to see a box of Lucky Charms, Faith thought as she took it from the shelf. Before she could open it, however, there was a knock at the door. Box in hand, Faith went to answer the door.

"Ready?" Bosco asked, grinning as he stepped into the living room.

"Do I look it?" Faith returned.

Bosco looked her up and down. Her hair was damp, she was wearing pajamas, and she was holding a box of cereal. "Nope," he answered.

"You should probably go without me. I'm running behind and you don't need my help to be late. Charlie is sick, the sitter isn't here yet, I'm hungry, and I'm not dressed. This is the Monday from hell."

Catching sight of the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box, Bosco was reminded of what day it was. "I guess this would be a bad time to wish you a happy St. Patrick's Day, huh?"

Faith gave him her best 'duh' glare.

"Tell you what. I'll call the sitter and get your work stuff for you while you get dressed. You have a few minutes, since I got here early. I was thinking the traffic was going to be backed up all to hell from the parade, but I guess I got lucky. Go do your thing."

"The sitter's number is on --"

"-- the bulletin board in the kitchen and your work stuff is in the closet in the hall. I know." Bosco grabbed the cordless phone and headed for the bulletin board.

About five minutes later, Faith emerged from the bedroom, buttoning her jeans. "I'm still hungry," she muttered, looking longingly at the Lucky Charms box that sat on the couch -- the only horizontal surface that wasn't being occupied by toys, mail, and other bits of clutter. She hadn't gotten to clean much, aside from Charlie's bed sheets when he'd thrown up.

"Beth says she'll be here in five minutes," Bosco reported before addressing Faith's complaint about being hungry. "Take the damn cereal with you. I swear, Yokas, if I find one melted marshmallow anywhere come July, I'll use you to clean the car."

"I promise not to hurt your precious baby," Faith said, grabbing the box from the couch. "Charlie is asleep; he should be okay until Beth gets here. Let's go before we're late."

\---

Faith tiredly pulled her off-white sweater over her head and yawned. "What a day," she commented and walked over to Bosco's locker. She leaned heavily against the locker next to his. "I ache all over. I want to go home and take the longest, hottest shower in the history of the world."

Bosco, who had been standing there in a pair of shamrock-print boxers, took his half-crumpled, half-folded jeans from the locker and began to dress. "I told you not to step into that. I told you to let them duke it out. No, you had to step in and try to break up a bar brawl between two drunken Irishmen. Didn't I tell you that you'd get hurt?"

"Yeah, and you stayed out of it," Faith replied sarcastically.

"Faith," Bosco said, buttoning his jeans, "you got shoved into a wall. And didn't you hear what they were saying about you, or were you out cold after hitting your head?"

"I've been called worse."

"I wasn't going to just let them say those things and shove you around like that. So, yeah, I did step in. Deal with it."

"How is your eye?" She reached out to turn his face toward her, but he jerked away when her fingers brushed his chin.

"Fine, considering I used it to stop a train."

"I'm sorry," she muttered, looking at her shoes.

Bosco sighed. "No, I am. Want to go to my Ma's bar and drink until we forget that we're in pain? I have it on good authority that she doesn't serve green beer."

"I'd love to, but I should really go home. I'm going to owe Beth a fortune as it is, since I had to have her come early for Charlie. It was easier when Fred was around. Well, cheaper at any rate." She sounded zapped of energy, both physically and emotionally. It wasn't enough for her that her body ached; she had to make her heart ache as well by talking about Fred. She still loved him, but it seemed odd that she could after all of the things he had done to make her miserable.

"Come on, I'll take you home." Bosco put his jacket on and walked to the locker room door, making a show of stepping back and holding it open for Faith.

She remained by his locker, though, staring at the dirty, banged-up floor. "I can walk. Go to your ma's bar and have two or six for me."

Exasperated, Bosco released the door and walked back to Faith. "You said it yourself, you're in pain. You don't want to walk anymore than I want to wake up with a hangover and a green-tinged tongue."

Faith laughed a little and she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "Fine, you can drive me home. I need my box of Lucky Charms back anyway -- it's got to feed three people tomorrow morning."

"See, it works out."

\---

Faith fished around for her apartment keys, not wanting to knock on the door and risk waking Emily or Charlie. "I don't understand why you wanted to come up," she said to Bosco, who was standing behind her. "It isn't like you can scrounge up a midnight snack or anything." She unlocked the door and smiled when she saw Beth reading a book while sitting on the couch.

"Hey, Faith," she greeted, slipping a bookmark between the pages and standing up. "Charlie says he's feeling better, but Emily wasn't looking too good when she got home. I went to check on her at dinnertime, but she'd fallen asleep on her homework. I didn't bother to wake her, since I thought she might feel better if she slept. She woke up two hours ago, but only long enough to shower and put her pajamas on before going back to bed. Oh, and you don't have any food in the house."

"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry about that. I meant to go shopping today, but Charlie was sick, so I couldn't leave." She pulled some money for her purse and handed it to Beth, who put it between the pages of her book.

"I ordered a pizza. The leftovers are in the fridge if you're hungry. Can't miss it -- bright green, only thing in there..." She grabbed her coat and reached for the doorknob. Noticing Bosco for the first time, she smirked. "Be smart and have fun, kids," she said before making a quick exit.

Faith shook her head. "Why do I put up with this crap?" she asked, walking to the kitchen and putting the Lucky Charms in the cupboard. She winced and swore in pain as she lowered her arm to her side. "Man, does that hurt. I guess he shoved me harder than I thought."

"Come here," Bosco said. He looked at the couch, and then shook his head. "No, scratch that. The couch is too small." Without another word, he walked own the hall.

Perplexed, Faith followed him. "What are you doing?" she asked as he walked into the bedroom and sat on her bed.

"It'll make you feel better," he said, patting the bed. At her hesitation, he said, "I promise not to bite if you don't want me to."

"What's going to make me feel better?" A little nervously, she moved to the bed and sat next to Bosco. She didn't think he had ever been in her bedroom before, but he looked totally relaxed, as if he belonged there. She, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she didn't know what was going on and she never liked being in the dark.

"A back rub," he said simply. "Take off your shirt and lie down."

Faith shrugged to herself; what harm could it do? She lifted her sweater over her head, perfectly comfortable in doing so. After all, this was Bosco -- she changed in front of him at least once a day. When she tossed her sweater onto the bed, she began to feel a little bit uncomfortable without having her Kevlar vest and her uniform shirt to reach for. This is different than changing in the locker room, she realized as she lay down on the bed.

Bosco swallowed hard, wondering what he'd been thinking. He was uncomfortable as hell, seeing his attractive, shirtless, divorced, female partner lying on the bed. She didn't seem bothered by the situation, though, so he did his best to push aside any less-than-Platonic thoughts. "Let me know if I'm being too rough," he said, instantly kicking himself for his choice of words.

She inhaled sharply when his hands touched her shoulders. He jerked away as though burned and she mentally read herself the riot act. "Sorry," she said. "Your hands are cold." Even to her ears it sounded weak, but it was the best thing she could think of on short notice.

Bosco muttered an apology, marveling at the fact his hands could be cold. They were sweating something awful and he was warm all over, but he supposed it was just his mind lying to him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and began working downwards, mentally drawing lines on her back telling him how far down and how far to the side he could go. He didn't think he'd ever seen a pair of pants with a waist as low as that of Faith's jeans -- not that he was complaining. While he'd been contemplating women's fashions, his hands had moved closer to Faith's sides and he felt her shift a bit. "You're ticklish," he said in an almost accusatory tone.

"No, I'm not." Faith rolled onto her back so she was staring up at Bosco. Big mistake, her mind screamed at her when she saw him towering above her, grinning in that way only he could.

Focus on her face; do not take your eyes off her face, Bosco instructed himself, trying to keep his voice normal as he said, "Yes, you are." His eyes had chosen that moment to move -- almost of their own volition -- from Faith's face, over her neck and collarbone, to settle on the lace bra she very nearly wasn't wearing. His voice had cracked as he had retorted.

Pretending his reaction had been merely her imagination, Faith tried to act normally. "Bite me, I'm Irish," she said, since it _was_ St. Patrick's Day for another few minutes.

Bosco shook his head and said softly and seriously, "'Kiss me, I'm Irish.'" His eyes met hers.

Faith stared up at him, her breathing heavy and her heart pounding out of control. "You're Italian." She hated that she sounded out of breath and that her smart-aleck, joking remark didn't come across as such.

"Kiss me anyway."

She did -- long and hard and with all the passion that had built up inside her since Fred had left. When she pulled away, she looked into his eyes and saw that she would be no less sore the next morning. Hell, she'd probably ache worse.

She let him pin her to the mattress anyway.


End file.
